


Masquerading as a Man

by CarryOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOn/pseuds/CarryOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 1.10 Present and future come together taking the brothers on a whirlwind tour of what might become of their lives. Is this reality, or is this something created by an old adversary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 10: Masquerading as a Man

Authors: Bayre and sendintheclowns

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Episode Summary: Present and future come together taking the brothers on a whirlwind tour of what might become of their lives. Sam's powers, Azazel and Dean's future meld together in a bizarre way and with a definite Stephen King theme park feel. Is this their reality, or is this something created by an old adversary?

PART ONE

What was a deity to do? The world just didn't get him. He'd been cast as a foolish rule breaker which was as far from the truth as one could get. His true purpose on earth was to use his cunning to raise awareness.

Okay, so maybe he did go overboard occasionally. So sue him. Humans were just so easy to manipulate, it was hard to go easy on them.

Although there were two humans who had actually gone toe to toe with him, albeit just for a while. Two humans who were proving to be much more important in the scheme of things than he'd first thought.

Two humans who needed to be taught a lesson. Or two. Or three.

Not just for him (and really, where did they get off trying to stake him when he was having so much fun, even if it was at their expense) but for all of creation.

He picked up his piña colada and took a long pull from the straw. Ah, dark rum. Humans did get that one right. With a little help from his good friend, Bacchus. Proof that humans could be led in the right direction on occasion.

A busty blond in a red string bikini set another drink down on the cocktail table next to his deck chair. "Here you go, Mr. Longfellow…anything else I can do for you?"

Tilting his Giorgio Armani aviator style sunglasses down, he leered at the pretty young thing. "Do I look like a mister to you? Oh, please, call me Rod."

A text message chose that moment to announce its arrival on his cell phone. Sometimes modern conveniences weren't all that convenient. Sighing, he waved the blond away and picked up his phone.

It was a message about those damn Winchesters.

He crooked his pinky finger up to his mouth in an imitation of Dr. Evil.

Music poured over the hidden sound system. Pink's "Get The Party Started" assaulted his ears. Truer words were never spoken.

Duty called. Although he was pretty sure he could mix a little business with pleasure. That was definitely one of the perks of being a trickster.

-0-

Dean didn't like it any better than Sam who was sitting on the rickety double bed, massaging his temples. "So you're telling me that Bobby knows we're in Nevada and he wants us to drive clear across the country to New York? You're telling me there aren't any hunters closer than us?"

Sam might not be happy because of what he perceived to be unnecessary travel, but Dean wasn't thrilled about the job because it was pulling him away from where he wanted to be. Vegas, baby. "I'm just relaying Bobby's request. It's not my idea." Implied was the _don't get snippy with me_.

His brother stopped massaging long enough to scowl up at Dean who was already rolling his clothes and stuffing them into his duffel bag. "Are you sure it was Bobby?"

Maybe Dean ought to cut Sam some slack, maybe his brother's headache was worse than Dean had thought. Why else would Sam question him about who had called with the job? "I think I know Bobby's voice." Setting his packed duffel bag down, Dean walked over to Sam's bed and plunked down on it, bumping Sam's shoulder. "What's this about?"

Sam turned his head and Dean took in the roadmap of anxiety across his brother's face. Deep frown lines grooved around his mouth. Forehead—at least what could be seen through the overlong hair—furrowed so tightly it resembled a shar pei. Then there were the eyes. Puppy dogs could learn a thing or two from his brother. "I don't know. It just…doesn't make sense."

"What, like your spidey sense is tingling?" Dean asked. When Sam used his powers— used being a relative term since it seemed to happen without Sam's consent—his brother oftentimes ended up with a headache. Or nosebleed. Or he got plain ornery. Kind of like right now.

Raising his shoulders, Sam then let them droop. His brother looked pathetic. Dean could sit here all day and debate the job, and Sam loved nothing more than a good debate, but it was time they moved on. Places to see and people to do. "Since when has sense played a part in this? Come on, let's hit the road. The hunt Bobby lined up for us has to do with a library."

"A library? Which one? I'd like to do some research on…" Maybe it wasn't nice but Dean tuned out his brother. Dean was convinced the key to living so closely with someone was to sometimes quit listening. Just nod and make appropriate noises.

Huh.

Dean wondered if Sam did the same thing to him.

-0-

Sam had felt a lot better about the hunt once he knew they were headed to the New York City Library. Books! Sam loved surrounding himself with books and knowledge. Maybe he could find something that would shed more light on what was going on, with both Dean and himself. Bob the Angel had been somewhat of a help but Sam wanted to dig deeper. The more they knew, the better off they were. Knowledge was power.

The New York City Library was likely to be an excellent source of information on the seals. He and Dean had coins with actual symbols to look up and compare. He might have to work a little extra hard to break into the ancient texts department, but it would be worth the effort and risk.

Although so far this hunt Bobby had sent them on seemed a little hinky to both he and Dean. When they'd interviewed Alice, a current reference librarian, she'd mentioned disturbances in the library but wasn't very forthcoming with information. When Dean had tried to make small talk, put her at ease, he'd asked about the portrait on the wall; Alice had stated it was a portrait of another librarian, Dr. Eleanor Twitty. The name rang a bell with both brothers but Sam couldn't remember from where. Alice had excused herself and practically run upstairs.

Now they were roaming the stacks, fifteen minutes from closing time. Nothing so far.

"I still want to try and get into the room where we can look up some religious references, maybe make some copies." Sam stopped talking when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and watched as books stacked themselves ten feet from where he stood.

Large books and small books were haphazardly stacked, leaning at a crazy angle. If they didn't put a stop to this, someone was going to get hurt. It would be worse than getting hit by a flying book.

Ducking to the side, Sam watched a book sail over his shoulder. "Dean!"

His brother appeared from behind a tall stack. "Whatcha got, Sammy?"

Motioning to the leaning tower of books, Sam looked around. Over Dean's shoulder he spotted a woman in a gray dress, white hair piled up in a bun, oblivious to the book stacking phenomenon going on mere feet from where she stood.

Dean looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

Even before Dean's whispered words were out of his mouth, the old woman turned to him and shushed him. "Shhhh." She even held a finger to her lips.

It was a joke, at least on Dean's part, that older women loved Sam. He motioned Sam over. "Maybe you can get her to move. Use some of that famous Sammy charm on her. I'm gonna check out those books more closely."

Rolling his eyes, Sam approached the elderly woman. Her back was to him and he gently tapped a finger on her shoulder.

Only his finger went right through her.

The vision—ghost—whatever, turned around to stare at Sam. Her—its—hair stood on end and the skin morphed into a skeleton.

Sam blinked in the face of the form. This was the best she-it-had?

"Duck!" Rock-salt blasted past him, Dean spraying the ghost. Sam brushed debris out of his hair while he watched the ghost dissolve.

Dean stood next to him, shotgun at the ready. "Good thing we're not those goofs in the movie. One grouchy ghost isn't going to make us run away."

That was it. Alice and Eleanor Twitty had been in Ghostbusters. The writers must've done more research than Sam had given them credit for.

He shook his head, letting a cloud of salt residue float toward Dean. Served his brother right for shooting the rock-salt while Sam was standing so close to the ghost.

When Dean coughed and glared at Sam, he gave his brother an innocent smile. "Let's get the sage out and start smudging. You want to give the overzealous librarian the good news that she's dead and it's time to move on when she shows up?"

Dean smiled widely at him. "No, Sammy. You're the one with the street cred when it comes to older chicks. You be the bearer of bad news."

Sam had left himself wide open for that one. The only thing that kept him from getting snarky was that Dean was so obviously pleased with himself.

What with Dean's radio set to angel frequency, and all the other crap that had happened, it was good to see Dean looking so relaxed and happy.

-0-

Dean tried to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress but it just wasn't happening. He flipped over violently on to his back and the headboard scraped against the wall. Wonderful.

"Maybe you should try counting sheep." Sam's voice was tinged with amusement but he sounded awfully awake considering it was after 2 AM. Both brothers were apparently still keyed up after their run in with the New York City Library ghost, despite hitting a few bars and sampling the vaunted city nightlife.

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. His body seemed willing to sleep but his brain wouldn't shut off. Every time he thought he was falling asleep, he'd jerk awake. When he tried to relax and get comfortable, the mattress lumps would pound him.

It didn't help that every time he closed his eyes, he was confronted with the image of Sam—dead in his arms. Sam burning—on the funeral pyre. Sam going toe to toe with their dad…and losing.

He was not only freaked out by the thought of Sam's death and the fact that he'd somehow come back to life, but that their dad—demon—whatever—was trying to make Dean choose between the two people he cared about most in the world. His dad and Sam.

Flipping back on to his stomach, Dean exhaled heavily. "We're both awake. Maybe we oughta just pack up and head out."

"I'm not getting in the car with you behind the wheel with no sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Talk about your weapons of mass destruction. And I'm no better off. Hey, how about I grab a book and read for awhile?"

Dean flopped back over, settling on his back. "I don't feel like reading. Although watching you read sure would be boring enough to put me out."

The bedside light flicked on and Sam padded across the room, digging in his duffle bag. "No, doofus, I meant I'd read aloud. I've got," Sam paused to look down at the book in his hand, "Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol. I know you've got a soft spot for Scrooge."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean agreed. "Your voice, droning on…guaranteed to put me to sleep."

Sam's voice was low and mellow and he could probably make money if he read books on tape. But Dean wasn't going to mention that. It wasn't that Dean was against handing out compliments, but he'd rather do it for something Sam worked for as opposed to something he was born with.

His brother was ignoring his jibe, settling on his bed with the book leaning against his bent knees. "I'll just jump right in. Here, this is a good part. Scrooge is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future…"

Dean relaxed as Sam described the appearance of the ghost. He let his eyes drop down after a few minutes, listening to the cadence of Sam's voice, not really paying attention to the story. This was much more effective than counting sheep. Settling on his side, Dean was pretty sure he'd be asleep in no time at all.

"Hello Dean, I'm the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. I'm here to show you what life could be like in the future." Dean's eyes flew open, head jerking up as someone else in the room began to speak. His hand was already reaching for the knife under his pillow as he catalogued the thing standing over him.

In some ways it resembled the shtriga, a large cowl hiding its head.

A shtriga.

Dean was on his feet, putting himself between the shtriga and Sam. Only the other bed was empty.

"I'm not a shtriga, Dean. I'm a ghost. Take my hand and I'll show a possible future. A future that can still be changed, depending on what choices you make." A skeletal hand reached forward and Dean dodged back.

Not quick enough. A bright light filled the motel room and Dean felt a jerk followed by a sensation of floating. It was calming. Peaceful.

A warm hand on his shoulder reinforced the sense of serenity. "Look and learn…"

Dean was sitting in the Impala, engine idling. The Impala was immaculate, sparkling even. The same couldn't be said for Dean.

His face was shaded with a scruffy beard, his hair long and unkempt. His leather jacket was slung over the passenger seat. The seat that should be occupied by Sam.

The dream-Dean rolled down the window of his car, confronted by a worn looking Bobby. "What do you want from me, Bobby?" The voice was steely. Flat. Uncaring.

His friend, a hunter he'd always looked up to, stared back. "I want you to be careful. I don't want you going off, half-cocked and loaded for bear. Sam wouldn't want that."

"Well, we don't always get what we want, do we? I mean, Sam is dead. Do you think that's what he wanted? I sure as hell didn't want that. He should be here, Bobby. Sam should be here." The words were growled in rage.

Dean stepped back for the scene in front of him. He didn't know this bitter, twisted man. Dean had been heartbroken when Sam had died at Cold Oak. Depressed and lost. But this…simmering anger ready to explode wasn't something he'd felt before. Not to this degree.

"Wow, this is some nightmare. I thought mine were bad but this is…pretty awful. What happened to you?" Sam's soft voice whispered in Dean's ear. His head whipped around, relief coursing through him. Sam wasn't dead. Sam was standing next to him.

His little brother was in the same blue v-neck t-shirt and flannel sleep pants he'd been in when they'd gone to bed. His feet were even bare. But he was here, standing next to Dean. "The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come paid me a visit and zapped me here. I guess A Christmas Carol wasn't the best choice for a bedtime story. What are you doing here?"

Sam's cheek warmed to a bright pink, embarrassment plain to see. "You were talking in your sleep and it didn't sound pleasant. I touched your arm to wake you up and ended up here. I'm sorry, I know I said I would get this thing under control but it kinda got away from me." Sam shrugged. "Actually, I have no idea how to get it under control."

So Sammy's powers were still running haywire. Dean didn't ordinarily like the idea of Sam tapping into his dreams—his dreams were his own, good or bad, kinky or not—but on this occasion he was happy to have Sam along for the ride.

Dean squeezed Sam's forearm, apology accepted. "Now that you're here, do you think you can zap us awake? This really sucks."

His brother shook his head no, hair flying into his eyes. "I tried as soon as I got here but it looks like we're both stuck. What's going on? What did I miss?"

Dean couldn't keep the frown from taking over his face. "You died. I'm fighting with Bobby. And apparently I lost my razor."

Sam grimaced. "I died? Again? That does suck. And dude, the Grizzly Adams look is not a good one on you."

The brothers quieted as the scene in front of them finished playing out, Bobby pleading with Dean not to go on a kamikaze mission and Dean vowing to take down as many mother-fuckers as he could before joining Sam. Dream-Dean gunned the Impala, gravel and dirt spraying Bobby as he catapulted down the driveway.

"I can't believe I was such an asshole to Bobby. That was pretty hard to stomach." Dean was quiet, upset with the way his nightmare was playing out.

Sam bumped his shoulder into Dean's. "It's just a dream."

Dean whirled around. "Where did the Future Ghost go? Maybe you scared him off."

A loud voice boomed from above them. Snapping his head up, Dean found the hooded figure perched on a tree. "Ready for your next stop? There's plenty more to see."

With a snap of those long, spindly fingers Dean was transported to a new scene. He only hoped Sam had made the jump with him. He wasn't sure he could face this pseudo-future alone.

-0-

Sam had stopped reading when Dean had finally dropped off to sleep. He wished he could do the same but he was still too amped up to wind down. That and a headache was starting to creep in again.

Maybe he could get to the bottle of Tylenol without waking up Dean. He didn't want to chance it though. If he could get his body to relax, the headache would probably ease up.

Dean made one of those buried-in-the-throat-screams that made the hair on the back of Sam's head stand up. It sounded like Dean may have fallen to sleep but his dreams weren't being kind to him.

When Dean's body spasmed and his teeth clenched, Sam rolled off the bed. Dean might need the rest but this was anything but restful.

Sam approached the bed with caution, cognizant of the fact that Dean didn't like to be awakened abruptly and he had a knife under his pillow. When Dean whimpered, Sam decided it was time to intervene. "Dean, time to wake up."

His brother turned toward his voice but the labored breathing didn't ease and his eyes remained shut. Still locked in his nightmare. Sam didn't want to touch Dean since that's what seemed to trigger his dream-walking ability but he couldn't stand by and listen to his brother in distress.

"Dean, come on, snap out of it." The words were delivered with a gentle shake to Dean's shoulder. Sam stepped back in case Dean startled upright.

Stepped back, right into another reality.

Dean's dream.

At least his brother didn't seem mad at him for invading his dream. If anything, Dean seemed happy to have him there. He understood that after watching scraggly Dean and Bobby argue. It was like watching a train wreck.

Before Sam's brain could make order out of the chaos in front of them, he was transported to another scene.

The color seeped back into the surroundings, leaving Sam and Dean standing in front of small cottage. In front of the cottage, other-Dean sat in the Impala, rocking back and forth. Through the car's open window, Sam could hear Dean muttering, "Never make me choose…wrong to choose…not fair…never make me choose…" The babble was constant and so unlike his brother, Sam looked at the real Dean.

His brother hitched his shoulders up, clearly as confused as Sam. Dean made eye contact with him but when the Impala's door slammed shut, both brothers followed other-Dean's progress as he climbed the steps to the cream colored cottage.

Two sharp raps on the door and a bedraggled young man stood in front of Dean. Maybe in his mid twenties, with a pallor that bespoke of inside pursuits as opposed to the healthy tan from out-of-doors, the dark haired man invited Dean inside.

Now that he was closer, Sam could see that the man bore a vague resemblance to himself. Layered dark hair, falling in hazel eyes, tall frame a few inches taller than Dean. But the most noticeable feature was the exhaustion that settled across the man like a heavy blanket. Bags below the eyes made them sag and the sharp features were drawn even sharper, the weight of the world pulling him down.

Other-Dean didn't shake hands with the man and wouldn't even look him in the face. "I've done some research and what you've got yourself here is a classic Boo Hag. They're a bit like vampires only they gain sustenance from your breath instead of your blood."

The younger man gasped, hand clutching at his heart. "A Boo Hag? Like a vampire? But this thing was red…didn't have pasty white skin or pointy teeth."

The other-Dean's voice was filled with barely veiled impatience, "It's not a vampire. And the reason it's red is because it doesn't have any skin. Now I'm gonna tell you what we're gonna do to get rid of it. But you need to do as I say."

"But—" the younger man stuttered.

Dean moved right up into the man's personal space. "Either you want to get rid of it or you don't. But don't waste my time. Which is it gonna be?"

Sam looked at Dean, the real Dean, and found his own bewilderment mirrored in his brother's round eyes. Dean was always a little impatient when on a hunt but first and foremost, he had people skills. He knew how to talk to victims to gain their compliance. Watching this…it was plain weird.

Sinking into a chair, the young man cradled his head in his hands. "I can't go on like this. I have no energy. I can't think. I'll do what you say."

Crossing his arms tight across his chest, other-Dean nodded. A small smile crept over his face but it wasn't joy or happiness or anything Sam would ever associate with a smile. It was borderline psychotic and creepy as hell.

"Come on, let's get you settled for the night. Couch or bed? All you have to do is fall asleep and when you feel the hag ridin' you, struggle with all your might."

"What do you mean, riding me?"

"The hag sits on your chest and sucks up your breath. When you feel like you can't move, that's the time to struggle the most. I'll take care of it then."

The dark haired man climbed slowly to his feet. "If you're sure…my bedroom's back here…"

A strong arm encircled Sam's bicep. "We gotta do something, Sam. If that kid struggles, the Boo Hag will rip off his skin!"

Sam was every bit as horrified as Dean. "Why didn't you just place a broom by his bed? The Hag would be distracted counting the straws and you'd be able to kill it then."

The real Dean thrust his hand through his hair. "This is insane. I would never put someone at risk like this. At least not without telling them what might happen. Sam, what the hell is going on here? What's wrong with me?"

"It doesn't make sense, Dean. I know you. You would never set someone up as bait this way. Especially without back-up. This can't be you." Sam's mind was busy cataloguing and rejecting various creatures that could be impersonating his brother.

Dean charged forward, toward the hallway other-Dean and the victim had disappeared down. "I've gotta put a stop to this."

Sam took off after Dean. He wasn't sure how much they could interfere with the outcome, especially seeing as this was a riff on A Christmas Carol. Observe but don't interact.

Dean's forward motion stopped abruptly, his brother staggering back as though he'd hit a wall. Sam put his arms out to catch Dean.

On contact, the world around them began to dissolve.

When Sam blinked his eyes open, Dean was standing at his side and they were standing in a large cave.

-0-

Backing up a few steps, Sam turned one way, Dean the other, each scanning their newest surroundings.

"I've never been here." Dean turned a complete circle. "Have you?"

"Not that I remember." Sam looked up. They were inside some sort of cavern, but it was impossible to tell if it was natural or manmade. "I can't see the ceiling, it just keeps going up."

"Uh huh…but what are we supposed to see?" Dean twisted on his heels away from Sam then turned back to face him and shrugged.

Other-Dean stumbled into the center of the cavern waving a handgun. Sam squinted at it, it wasn't just any gun, it was a Colt, _the_ Colt. Babbling, image-Dean staggered, taking as many steps sideways as he did forward. "Made me chose…should never made me choose…can't choose…can't…can't."

Sam leaned closer to his brother, his real brother. "That's what you were saying before, in the Impala."

"That wasn't me, Sam. It looked like me, but it wasn't."

"I know, but…the dream you was saying that." Sam shrugged. Dean's eyes were round and he was slightly pale and very freaked out which wasn't helping Sam remain calm and cool. In fact, it was making him feel the exact opposite.

A flash of light and Azazel materialized out of thin air. He stalked a slow circle around image-Dean. "You know what you have to do."

Image-Dean used the barrel of the Colt to scratch at his forehead, "Not choosing."

"It's the only way, son." John appeared behind Dean, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Now, do it now."

"Can't make me." Image-Dean whirled around taking aim at John.

Yellow eyes burst out laughing and clapped, "Show time, Deano."

Image-Dean whipped around, this time waving the gun in Azazel's direction. "Can't…no…no…no…"

Image-Sam appeared out of thin air and was at once grabbed from behind by John. "Yes." John held tight to image-Sam, struggling and trying to jerk free of his grasp with both hands. "You do it, or I will, but one of us does it. It's the only way, Dean. It's everything or Sam. Are you going to let everything end? All those innocents, think about it, Dean."

"I said no." Image-Dean swung his arm in an arc, Colt now aimed at John's head. "Not choosing…can't make me…can't make me…" He tilted his head to one side and rubbed at his ear, "STOP TALKING."

"Now." John shouted.

"It's time." Azazel chorused with John.

Shaking his head, mumbling words Sam couldn't make out image-Dean opened fire, with every shot he backed up. Sam saw how image-Dean shot John, then Yellow Eyes, but it did nothing except make them laugh harder. The gun's aim was centered on image-Sam. Dean fired and image-Sam's body jerked one way then the other with each impact. John smiled smugly, let go of image-Sam's arms and stepped away, wiping his hands off on themselves.

Image-Sam crumpled to the ground, a bloody heap. Azazel jumped up and down, he punched the air with one fist and cheered image-Dean on.

John stepped over image-Sam's body and clapped Dean's shoulder, "I knew you could do it. I knew you _would_ do it. You made the right choice, son."

Image-Dean giggled uncontrollably. He shot John and Azazel over and over; trigger finger working until the gun simply clicked. "I didn't save one for me." Image-Dean's laughter turned to sobs. "Figures I wouldn't save one for me. I never think of me."

In a flash of dingy gray light John and Yellow Eyes vanished.

Sam stumbled backwards unable to stop the gasp from leaving his mouth. Chills coursed up and down his spine to spread throughout his entire body. He couldn't breathe evenly and his vision swam through the tears pooling in his eyes. Wetness from those tears spilling over and down his cheeks was ignored. It hadn't happened, Sam knew that, his brain kept telling him the fact was it would never happen. However, seeing Dean put a gun to him and squeeze the trigger and actually commit the act was more than Sam could rationally process.

His brother shot him. Shot and killed him. Dean killed him. What if he was seeing the actual future? It couldn't be, Sam refused to believe Dean would harm him, let alone kill him.

Looking to Dean for some kind of reassurance, what Sam saw frightened him doubly as much as what he'd just witnessed. Dean stood there, barely breathing. His face was pasty white and his eyes were wider than Sam had ever seen them. He stared at himself holding the Colt staring down at dead image-Sam. Mouth working, but no sound coming out, Dean backed away, shaking his head.

He turned to Sam, but didn't seem to really see him, simply looked right through him.

"Dean," Sam found his voice and hissed, "Wake up right the hell now." Getting his feet to move he was at his brother's side and tugging on his arm. "Dean!"

The cavern dissolved and Sam was slumped beside Dean's bed, shouting his name. Dean jerked upright, rolled off the bed and backed away from Sam, arms outstretched, hands out. "I…Sam, I'd never…you have to believe…"

Struggling to his feet Sam looked around the room. They were back in their motel room. "Dean, you…it wasn't real, it _wasn't_." Who was he trying to convince—himself, his brother or both?

Dean spun around, fist lashing out he cleared off the low dresser and slammed a hole into the wall, yelling. "It'll never be real!" Without warning Dean went from shocked to deadly angered.

"Don't shout at me. Don't." Sam's knees ceased to work and he landed hard on the floor between the beds, trembling.

Taking a few deep breaths Dean stood straighter and seemed to calm. The color eased back into his face and his entire demeanor went from vicious to Sam's big brother in a blink of an eye. It was a bit creepy how Dean could do that. "Sammy." His voice was soft and kind, unlike the odd crazy quality of the dream or the shrieking fury of seconds before. Dean nearly ran across the room and held out his hand, offering to help Sam off the floor. "It won't ever be real."

Sam stared at his brother's hand for a few seconds before reaching up and taking it, using Dean's weight and strength to haul his ass off the floor. Biting his lip, he nodded.

-0-

Dean was wiped out. This whole Back to the Future thing made his head spin.

There was no way in hell he would ever hurt Sam. And shoot him? Dean would rather cut off his own hand. No freakin' way.

Sam shifted away from him, sitting abruptly on the edge of his bed. He dragged a shaky hand through his messy hair and stared up at Dean. "It wasn't real."

Dean sunk down on his bed, facing his brother. He wanted to be strong. Too bad his voice shook as bad as Sam's hands. "Of course it wasn't real. As if."

It was starting to make Dean uneasy, how Sam stared down at his hands on his thighs, down to the floor, then back to his hands. Avoiding Dean. When Sam continued to stare at nothing, Dean couldn't let the silence stretch out any longer. His nerves were too frayed and Sam's quiet reaction wasn't helping. Dean turned to a topic he knew would distract him. Sam. "So I thought you had this dream thing under control. What happened?

That brought Sam's head snapping up, eyes bloodshot and confused. "I just…I touched you. That's all I did. You were having a nightmare and wouldn't wake up, so I touched your shoulder and then I was standing there. With you. In your dream."

Sam's tone was defensive. Maybe a little hurt. Then he shook his head before rising to his feet. Arms crossed. "Let's forget about my…whatever you want to call what happens when I'm inside one of your dreams, and focus on what actually happened in the dream. You said it was the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Did it tell you what it wanted with you?"

Sam had managed to deflect the conversation and put the topic back on Dean. That was Dean's favorite trick to use on Sam. Maybe his brother was finally growing up. The student becoming the master. That idea was too hard to contemplate at the moment. Dean would always have the upper hand. He was older, therefore it was his right.

His brother was staring hard at him, face pinched. Waiting for an answer. "Your usual standard Christmas ghost stuff. It wanted to show me what could happen in the future. Said I could change it depending on my choices. Blabbity blah blah. I think it was full of shit."

"But why were you so bitter? That Dean was nothing like you." Sam had uncrossed his arms and took a step closer, posture beseeching. For a moment Dean thought Sam was going to throw his arms around him, hug him. It was something his touchy-feely brother would do. And actually right now, after seeing what they'd seen, whether it was a dream or something else, he wouldn't have rebuffed a hug. But Sam didn't and Dean was still sitting on the bed, wrung out from the dream experience, and couldn't work up the energy to stand up.

"It wasn't me. You know I would never disrespect Bobby like that. Or hang a civilian out to dry like I did with that dude and the Boo Hag." _Or ever raise a hand to you, never mind raise a gun._

The words remained unspoken. Dean couldn't go there right now. The whole trippy exercise had left him feeling vulnerable and nothing set his teeth on edge like that feeling. His teeth were almost grinding from the tension and he forced his jaws to relax.

When Sam opened his mouth, Dean shut him down. "But—"

"I think we're done with the sleeping portion of the program, Sam. Pack up and let's hit the road. You can dissect this all you want once we're in the car. I say we make tracks for Bobby's." Dean knew full well that once Sam was in the Impala, he'd succumb to exhaustion, leaving Dean in peace. The idea of heading to Bobby's seemed to give Sam some peace as well; his brother seemed to view the older hunter's place as some sort of haven. A junkyard. Go figure.

Sam would let the matter drop. At least for now.

Dean needed the time. What he'd seen in the future was something he couldn't contemplate. It was time for a little nervous breakdown and where better to have it then in his beloved vehicle with the hard road beneath him.


	2. Masquerading as a Man Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO

PART TWO

Sam had woken up disoriented, a kink in his neck from leaning against the passenger window. He stared out the window, trying to get his bearings. Shouldn't they have reached Bobby's by now?

Oh. That's right. Bobby had asked them to go to Washington—the state—to check out some violent mutilations. Possible werewolves. Or black dogs. Or any other number of things. And supposedly no other hunter was in the vicinity to check it out. They'd almost been to South Dakota, too, when the change in plans had occurred. Sam had stifled a groan. He'd wanted a break. And a chance to debrief. Get Bobby's take on the whole dream thing.

But Dean had practically sparkled at the thought of going to Washington. Sam was pretty much at a loss as to why. From his time on the west coast he was certain where they were headed was nothing but gloom and rain.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Sam straightened up. "How close are we?"

"You slept the whole last leg, Sammy. We're about twenty minutes outside of the area." There was that barely suppressed glee in Dean's voice again. And Dean had called him Sammy. He only did that when he was worried or when he was in a good mood.

Eyes narrowing, Sam turned and stared at his brother's profile. He had to admit it was nice to see a smile on Dean's face. A natural smile. Even after driving coast to coast in two day's time. Weird.

His mind flashed to the dream-Dean. Scowling. Miserable. Possibly insane. He'd take this Dean beside him any day. But that didn't mean he couldn't tease his brother. "So what gives? You're like a sexaholic set loose in a porn shop."

Dean ignored him, eyes searching the roadside. They passed a sign announcing they were entering Forks. His brother spoke so softly Sam wasn't sure he heard correctly. "Huh, it's a real place." Sam's head swiveled around, trying to figure out what Dean was talking about. "What did you say?" Dean's face actually flushed. "Forks. I didn't know it was...you know what? Nevermind. Keep your eyes peeled for the Forks Coffee Shop would ya?"

Shrugging away his brother's weirdness for now, Sam tucked it away for later. Whatever it was had been enough to make Dean blush and it was worth pursuing at a later date. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted the Coffee Shop. "Hang a right. It's dead ahead."

The Impala slid into a parking spot and as they stepped out of the car, Sam's nostrils were assailed with the thick smell of grease. His stomach did a little flip but Dean was licking his lips at the aroma.

The sign proclaimed Fun, Family Eating. As they entered the restaurant, the first thing Sam spotted was a moose head perched on a ledge between dining areas. Since the moose was separated from the rest of its body, Sam highly doubted it agreed with the sign. After their little romp in Montana, Sam had enough close encounters with wildlife to last him quite a while. He seriously could've done without Bullwinkle staring at him.

A waitress seated them at a booth in the bustling cafe. Sam found himself within spitting distance of the moose. He crossed his arms and stared at the stuffed trophy; the moose stared back. "Why are we here?"

If his voice held a note of petulance, Sam felt justified. He shifted his attention so he was staring at Dean. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He glanced around but no one seemed to be paying them the slightest bit of attention. Except the damn moose.

Dean's tone was exasperated. "Animals mauling people. Possible supernatural connection. Any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam restrained himself from reaching across the table and smacking Dean but it was a near thing. The arrival of their waitress probably had something to do with that. When Candi, smacking her gum loudly the whole time, finished jotting down their drink orders and moved away again, Sam sat forward and hissed, "No, I meant why are we in the Forks Coffee Shop?"

Smirking, Dean picked up his menu. "We're here because I'm hungry. Now quit making that bitchface and find something to eat. You know you get cranky if you miss a scheduled feeding. Anyway, Bobby told us to stop here and talk to the locals." Picking up the menu, Sam scowled but complied. He hated when Dean treated him like he was a kid. _You know you get cranky if you miss a scheduled feeding_. Even worse, he hated when Dean was right. Sam did get cranky if he didn't eat regularly. He blamed it on fluctuating blood sugar levels. His brother never missed an opportunity to blame it on PMS (or Sam's never-ending growth spurt).

A brunette with longish hair walked by and Dean nearly suffered whiplash, his head turned so quickly as he watched her go by. Sam kicked Dean under the table. "What's with you? Do you know her or something?"

The girl, and make no mistake, she was definitely still a girl of no more than eighteen, was attractive but she also seemed restrained. She wore muted colors and no make-up. Dean usually gravitated toward a flashier type. Dean finally picked his eyes up off the floor and popped them back into his heard, turned to stare at Sam in amazement. "Did you see that?"

Sam was completely clueless. Dean was definitely excited about something but Sam was failing to make the connection. It irked him that he couldn't read Dean easily. Before his time away-don't think about dying, it'll only screw up your brain-he always knew what was going on with Dean. They'd practically lived in each other's pockets for twenty of Sam's twenty-four years so reading Dean had never been a mystery. It didn't help that Dean was staring at him, cheeks flushed, smiling widely. Sam peeked around Dean at the girl who was paying the cashier. Nope, nothing. "I saw the girl. So?"

"Doesn't she remind you of someone? Come on, you're the geekboy who's into reading. You gotta know what I'm talking about." Dean was clearly impassioned about whatever was going on here. Sam looked at the girl one more time but there was no spark of recognition. He had an excellent memory when it came to faces and he was drawing a blank here. He considered moving his brother up several notches from impassioned to insane if he didn't start speaking sense soon. "Dude, what are you talking about? What book?"

Dean actually rolled his eyes at Sam with exaggerated movements. It reminded Sam of something a Valley Girl would do. Maybe next Dean would break out the "fer sure" and "like totally" in every sentence. Instead Dean sat forward, his eyes aglow with excitement. "I'm talking about Twilight." His voice dropped to a whisper, "And that's Bella."

Leaning an elbow on the table, Sam searched his mind. Twilight rang a bell. That's right, Jess had read the book right before Halloween. Right before she'd died. She'd really liked it. Some vampire book that was completely preposterous. But Jess had read passages of it to Sam and she'd sparkled the way she always did when she was really into something. Thoughts of Jess always made him melancholy but right now he had a demented Dean on his hands which took precedence over everything else. He pushed his thoughts of Jess down deep and tried to decide how to respond to his brother. He decided on the straight approach. "You do know that book is a work of fiction, right? There is no Bella and what's-his-face, except in the pages of that book."

Without missing a beat, Dean answered. "Edward." Craning his neck, Dean watched the girl exit the cafe. She tripped over something by the door but righted herself against the doorjamb. Dean turned back once she was completely out of sight. "Bella is a klutz you know. And look, doesn't that look like a Volvo S60R she's getting into?"

Sam was teetering between concern and frustration. This wasn't like his brother at all. Although mentioning the car was classic Dean. Candi approached the table with their drinks. "I saw you staring at one of the Bella-wannabees. Are you here to do the Twilight tour?" Without pausing for them to answer, Candi plowed ahead. "People have been showing up from all over the states to do the tour. And it's really been a hit. Business around here is booming. I really don't understand why the Chamber of Commerce decided to stage that publicity stunt last week. I mean, really, there are no vampires or werewolves and the way they made up the victims...it was a joke."

It was hard to argue in the face of Candi's reasoning. Not that she'd given them a chance to respond; she rolled right on to taking their orders without pausing for breath. _There are no vampires or werewolves_. If only Candi really knew what was out there in the world. Although a publicity stunt explained the animal maulings Bobby reported. Just a bit of theater. They'd do some checking to make sure but this seemed like a wasted trip to Sam.

Dean's look of excitement had faded but Sam wasn't ready to let the whole Bella-Edward-Twilight thing go yet. He rarely got the chance to razz Dean over something like this. His brother the fan-girl. "So, how do you know about Twilight? Jess read it when we lived together but I didn't know much about it except the basic plot."

Another blush stole over Dean's features. "There was this girl when I was in Chattanooga. No, Clarksville. Anyway, when I was in Tennessee there was this girl, Amber I think, and she gave me the book to read. I was on a stake-out, waiting for a crazy naiad to show up. She'd been terrorizing the locals for months. Took forever to catch her. But between Amber and the book, I kept occupied on that stake-out."

His brother had a self satisfied air about him, smirking across the table at Sam. So much for razzing him. Sam could only think that somehow the cosmos was screwing with him. He'd wanted to go to Bobby's and now sat here, clear on the other coast from where they started two days ago. Dean had most likely agreed to take this hunt because of some damn book he'd read a few years ago given to him by some chick he was banging in Tennessee.

It didn't do any good to whine over it now. Sam decided he would have input into the next hunt they accepted. Dean might like to call the shots, but Sam was still a partner.

Sam caught sight of the moose on the partition again and idly wondered what would happen if he 'accidentally' knocked it over when they left. He knew he was being grumpy. Where was his food?

-0-

Dean was disappointed the hunt in Forks hadn't panned out. When a Volvo S60R had picked up the chick resembling Bella, he'd really thought they'd been dropped in the middle of the book or something. If Dean thought the skin of the masculine arm leaning on the Volvo's rolled down window had sparkled and shimmered in the weak sunlight, he told himself he was just tired. They'd gone from the right coast to the left coast in just over two days and Dean had done all of the driving.

Although for a moment he'd wondered if something, or someone, was toying with them. Maybe Bob had decided they'd needed a fun outing after Seven Trumpets _blew her horn_. They'd certainly earned it. He wondered where good old Bob was right now but didn't want to listen for him. The angel had a knack for inserting his foot in his mouth, especially when it came to Sam.

Sam. Now that Dean was having his own experience with being 'special,' he couldn't help but marvel at how Sam had handled all of the 'powers' thrown his way. Dean seriously thought he'd been losing his mind when he'd first started hearing things. How the hell did Sam stay sane through the precognition, dream walking and telekinesis?

The subject of his thoughts grunted to his right, shifting his long legs in the too small space of the Impala's front seat. "The hotel is just up ahead. About time…my ass is numb from all the travel."

Dean patted the Impala's dashboard fondly. "Don't you listen. You're a sweet ride and Sammy knows it."

Sam turned a questioning look at Dean at the mention of his name. It took Dean a split second to realize he'd said 'Sammy.' It's not that Sam had a real aversion to the nickname; the problem was, Dean only used the nickname when he was worried about Sam or stressed out. He was both at the moment but there was no need to alert Sam to that fact. Dean was still the big brother and he needed to hold it together.

At least the hunt should be an in-an-out. Freakin' ghosts. Never knew when to move on.

Rolling his neck, Dean forced himself to relax his muscles. "Give me the run-down again. What did Bobby say?"

When the older hunter had called, Sam had insisted on talking to Bobby. Apparently Sam was taking more of an interest in their jobs. Since he'd…well, since Cold Oak, Sam hadn't really embraced their job. Dean had put it off to the side effects of whatever Sam had experienced before. Instead of BC and AD, he had before Cold Oak and the subsequent trip to Wyoming and after as time references.

Sam cleared his throat. "It's a resort hotel, only open from the spring thaw until about November when the snow makes travel impossible, and apparently its Gold Room has some problems. People," Sam paused to put air quotes around that word, "dressed in vintage clothing, circa the 1920's, keep showing up uninvited."

Dean knew party crashers wouldn't be cause for concern, at least not their concern. He waited for Sam to continue his story. After consulting some notes on his lap, Sam looked up and stared out the window, rubbing his temples. It seemed that Sam was suffering from more headaches lately. Maybe his brother could get some rest while they stayed at what promised to be some opulent rooms Bobby had comped on their behalf. Dean decided to prompt his brother, wanting to know something about their quarry, "So flappers. What are they doing, listening to too much jazz music and getting drunk?"

His brother snorted in amusement. "Scaring the guests to death. Literally. Bumping into one of the ghosts seems to generate an electrical shock, like static electricity. Then pop, the ghost disappears. It's too much for some of these old geezers. They've lost three guests, all to heart attacks, and all the deaths occurred after coming in contact with the friendly ghosts."

That was a new one. Taken out by a ghost that just wanted to party down.

The massive lodge loomed ahead. Dean had to admit it was an impressive building. Timber and stone and mammoth. The structure was asymmetrical with one central section and one wing on either side. There were steeply pitched gable roofs with tiers of dormer windows. And logs. Lots of logs. It reminded him of something and it was right there but his brain couldn't pull it out. It didn't help that the angels were spamming up his mind, like a radio dial being spun constantly, not catching enough to give him any information but it did make his head ache.

It took a moment to find a parking space in the packed lot. Business didn't seem to be affected too much by the ghostly encounters. Dean supposed that was why they'd been called in—it was up to them to make sure business didn't take a hit—and that accounted for the paying gig. They sure could use the money.

"Who's our contact?" Dean asked as he stepped out of the Impala, stretching his arms over head.

It took Sam longer to extricate himself from the passenger side and once outside, he cupped a hand over his eyes to screen out the glare. The kid definitely had a headache. Dean wanted to get them settled in their room, get something to eat and then maybe Sam could take a nap while Dean poked around.

Sam glanced down at his notes one more time before stuffing them into his inner coat pocket. "The manager, name of Stuart Ullman. We're supposed to ask the front desk to call him when we arrive."

His brother's voice continued on but a buzzing took up in Dean's ears and he couldn't make out anything Sam was saying. Dean thumped first one side of his head and then the other, trying to dislodge whatever was in his ears just like he would when he got water trapped in there after swimming. When that didn't help, he closed his eyes and willed the noise to ease up.

Silence. He opened his eyes expecting to find Sam's concerned face. Instead he found Sam staring at the lodge, eyes glazed, face slack. For once Sam's headache was a point in Dean's favor; he didn't need Sam freaking out about whatever was going on. Dean was freaking out enough for the two of them.

The buzz had been different than his previous exposure to the All Access Angel Station. He'd have to monitor it, see what happened. Maybe the reception up in the thin mountainous air boosted reception or something.

Grabbing Sam's elbow, Dean propelled them up the grand stairs leading to the main entryway. Once inside, Sam shook his grip off and headed for the cherrywood desk taking up the back wall of the lobby. Everything about this place was on a grand scale, including the check-in desk. Dean couldn't wait to see their room.

By the time Dean made it to the desk, a tall, slim man was hustling out from a side door, hand extended in greeting. "Thank you so much for coming. I'm Stuart Ullman. I'll get you settled in your room and then answer any questions you have. We had another sighting last night."

Immediately Sam interjected with his trademark concern. "Were any of the guests harmed?"

Ullman gestured them toward the bank of elevators and spoke softly and discretely. "No, no, nothing like that. We actually closed down the Gold Room to minimize the chance of any guests coming in contact with the visitors. However, our bar manager was taking inventory in there and saw some…shall we say unusual activity."

Dean wanted to press for more information but the elevator stopped at the second floor to let them out and a couple was waiting when the door opened.

Ullman took them down the corridor, stopping in front of Room 217. "Here we are. Here are your keys." A walkie talkie on the manager's belt gave a burst of static that was followed by a garbled message. "I'm sorry, I'm needed down stairs. Why don't you make yourselves comfortable and then meet me downstairs. If you want, wait for me in the Gold Room."

The slim man disappeared down the hall before giving them a chance to respond. Dean turned to Sam who was massaging his temples again. "Come on, let's do as the man said. Let's check out our room and then head downstairs. I'm hungry. And I want to see this Gold Room."

Sam inserted the key and opened the door, throwing it wide. Dean was impressed. The multi-paned windows that dominated one wall filled the room with bright light, red edged with gold brocade curtains framing the view. Sam staggered back, throwing an arm over his tightly shut eyes. "Too bright."

Dean knew the pain was bad if Sam, who liked the spoken language, could only manage two syllables. Rushing forward, Dean pulled the curtains together, blocking out the light. Turning around he found Sam sprawled on his back, arm still flopped over his eyes. "I'll go get our duffle bags, and some Extra Strength Tylenol. Be right back."

His brother had always been prone to headaches but that history didn't make it any easier to witness. Sam's lower face was still visible and it was scrunched up tight with pain. "Thanks, Dean."

Easing out the door, Dean pulled it gently closed. He didn't want to leave Sam alone any longer than he had to while the poor kid was basically defenseless.

A pulse of static, much like the one he'd heard earlier coming from the walkie-talkie, punched through his head. Voices and words clashed violently in his head as he staggered against the wall.

He was on his way to do something but he couldn't remember what. At the moment the only thing he could think of was that he needed to make the constant clash in his head cease. His brain was gridlocked.

 _Perhaps this was what it felt like to lose your mind_.

-0-

The pain had walloped Sam out of nowhere. He'd had a little bit of a headache while they'd made their way up the winding road into mountain country and he'd blamed it on the high altitude. All he needed was some water and pain reliever. While unfolding himself out of the Impala, the pain had hit with a vengeance. Tendrils of throbbing agony attacked his brain.

He'd been able to push past it for a while but once he'd entered the blindingly bright room, he'd lost his battle. Shrugging out of his jacket, he sunk onto the soft comfort of the mattress, willing his body to repel the brain cramp.

Dean had said he'd get their bags but Sam was restless and couldn't wait. Sam pushed to his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom. Leaving the lights off, he fumbled for the toilet lid, pealing it back just as the bile made its way up his throat. The sounds he emitted as his stomach contents emptied were low and rough. _Calling the dinosaurs_ was Dean's favorite euphemism and even in the midst of his distress, that thought amused him. Grounded him.

At last his stomach decided to settle and Sam straightened, flipping on the overhead light. He turned the ornate taps on to the coldest setting. Leaning over, he cupped the water and sluiced it into his mouth. Feeling more human now that his mouth was rinsed, Sam diverted some of the water over his face and the back of his neck.

Sam didn't know how long he stood, stooped over the sink. When he was satisfied he could control his stomach, he straightened up. The migraine was lifting thanks to his bout over the porcelain god but his limbs were shaky and his vision still blurred.

Returning to the bedroom, he found someone in the room with him and it wasn't Dean.

An older African-American man with a white apron wrapped around his waist stood in front of the open hotel room door. "Don't be alarmed, son."

Sam wasn't alarmed at the appearance of the stranger in the room because he'd been trained to defend himself. What alarmed him was that the man's mouth hadn't moved while he was speaking.

"That's right, I'm not talking out loud. It's just another way of communicating. My granddaddy even had a name for it. He called it the shine—"

The voice in Sam's head cut out at the same moment two young girls in white dresses riding tricycles burst into the room, running into the man. Instead of crying out or falling to the floor, the man dissipated into the air in a shimmer of pastel lights.

The girls, long dark hair held back from pale faces with matching blue ribbons, sat on their tricycles and smiled up at Sam. The smiles were tinged with madness.

Their eyes were blank pools of black. Damn, if that wasn't jarring enough they began to speak in matching sing-song voices, trading off sentences.

"We're stuck here, in this hotel, but you can help us, Sam."

" When the time comes, Dean will take care of you. You mustn't fight him."

"With your abilities, we'll be more powerful."

"Help us, Sam."

"You must die, Sam."

This was bad. Really, really bad. The creepy double-mint twins were pure evil and Sam needed to put a stop to them.

Throwing his arms out in front of him, Sam closed his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a dial waiting to be turned. Heat coursed through his body and sweat bled from his pores.

Pain ten times worse than the migraine streaked through his head. His eyes flew open as energy superheated his fingers.

Bits of the girls splintered off and disappeared with a crackle. Strands of hair, ribbons, ears.

The pain in his head subsided in increments as each body part exploded into thin air.

Power surged through Sam and he felt good. Not just pain-free, but for the first time in the long time he was in control.

It was a heady feeling and laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside.

The girls continued to disintegrate, from the top down, bits and particles pinched off and sizzling in the air.

With each inch that melted, Sam was flying higher.

This felt good. Really, really good. Sam should probably slow things down, try to talk to the girls. Ghosts. _Things_. But their mouths were gone.

When the last speck of the beings in front of him liquefied and disappeared, Sam deflated.

His energy had nowhere else to go. His eyes darted left and right, searching for something to emolliate.

Nothing.

Omnipotent no more, Sam found himself mired in despair. He had to tap into this feeling again. But how?

The walls of the room began to shake. A massive explosion ripped through the hotel.

Sam didn't know how he knew this; he just did.

Another jolt that shook the flooring, Sam lost his footing and stumbled back, sprawling across the bed.

His eyes floating shut, Sam gave in to the heat licking at his body.

-0-

When the cacophony in his head finally died down, Dean made it out to the car and back to the room. Sam had moved on the bed but his brother was definitely out for the count. Face slack and mouth hanging open, Dean was shocked the rafters weren't rattling with Sam's snores.

Sam might be snoring but he looked a mess. Hair clung to his temples, matted with sweat. Dean touched Sam's forehead and was amazed to find it cool to the touch; he'd been certain a fever was raging through his brother's body.

Dean debated his next move. He really needed to talk to the manager about the case. He just wasn't comfortable leaving Sam alone. Sleeping. Vulnerable.

Salt and wards. They should keep Sam safe. Dean should have thought of it earlier. The only excuse he had was that he was overwhelmed at the moment. Waiting for the next siege of noise in his head.

Waiting to lose his mind.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a notebook and tore off a sheet. Digging in his jacket, he found a pen. _Meet me in the Gold Room._

Dean folded the sheet and tucked it in Sam's hand. There was no way Sam would miss that.

Next came the chalk. It didn't take long to draw the sigils on the wall. Last was the salt. An even line around the room.

Nothing would bother Sam.

Dean easily found the Gold Room, ignoring the sign posted announcing it was closed for renovation.

The room was long, most of it a marble dance floor surrounded by cocktail tables and chairs. A bank of windows to the left of the bar displayed a panoramic view of the mountainside. The bar was a massive wood affair that rivaled the reception desk and took up the back wall. A huge mirror, gilded with gold, was hung behind the bar. In front of the mirror stood a man.

The man beckoned to Dean. "Please, don't be shy. Come on in and name your poison."

As Dean approached he verified that the man behind the bar was the only other person in the ballroom. If he was a person. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Average weight and height. His nametag said Lloyd. The fact he should know this scene niggled at the back of dean's mind, but he couldn't pull out where he knew it from.

Dean bellied up to the bar and before he could say anything, a drink was set in front of him. "You look like a bourbon on the rocks kind of man. Drink up! And have a seat. I could use the company while I polish the glasses."

Dean mumbled Christo under his breath and removing a miniature flask from his front pocket, he managed to splash holy water on the bartender as he tipped some into his drink. No flinch and no smoke. Lloyd had passed the first set of tests.

"I thought the Gold Room was closed?" Dean asked, watching as the bartender methodically pulled out crystal stemmed glasses and polished them with a white dishtowel, lining them up on the bar.

Lloyd nodded his head yes. "Sure, sure. But we never know when it'll be opened again so the boss asked me to straighten up here. I figured there's no harm in having some company, as long as you're a paying guest. You are a guest here, right?"

The bartender seemed nervous, maybe afraid for his job. "Yeah, I'm a guest."

Relief cleared the nervous frowns from the nondescript man's face. Joe Average, that was Lloyd. And to be saddled with a name like Lloyd, too.

Someone burst through the doors and Dean turned to see his brother, panic clearing at the sight of Dean. "Dean, we need to talk."

Lloyd set his towel down. "I need to get some more supplies. Be right back."

The bartender drifted away as Sam approached. The closer Sam got, the more Dean realized something was wrong. "You okay? What's going on?"

Sam latched on to Dean's forearms. "There's something wrong with the hotel. I saw it explode. I think we need to evacuate the people."

"You mean you _saw_ it?" Dean could understand why Sam was freaked. Although the way his brother's eyes shifted to the side indicated possible guilt. But guilty of what?

"Some sort of explosion. I think the boiler room in the basement. I don't know, it just…I think it was a vision." Sam's eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Adrenaline rush.

The doors at the other end of the Gold Room banged open yet again. For a room that was supposed to be closed, there sure was a lot of traffic.

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder and saw nothing.

Something was hinky. Dean should've brought his EMF to the Gold Room. Why hadn't he? His head was really messed up right now which was a really bad thing to have on a hunt.

"Tell me about your vision. What did you see?" Dean definitely trusted in Sam's visions but before they evacuated a huge resort hotel, he needed to know more. They needed to slow down a little here. Dean needed to get his act together.

At least Sam wasn't hanging on to him anymore. His brother took a deep breath to collect himself and then started talking. "There was a man in my room. He was trying to tell me something but before he could, two little girls on tricycles bowled him over and he disappeared. The girls…ghosts…whatever they were told me they needed my abilities and to let you kill me."

"Didn't you think two girls riding tricycles was strange?" Dean knew there was a whole lot more to the story, but that sounded really familiar.

Sam ignored his question, pressing on. "I, ah, took care of the girls and when they were gone, the hotel exploded. I don't know how, but I know the boiler is going to explode."

Dean caught the way Sam hesitated over some of his story, particularly how he 'took care of the girls.' The part about not knowing how he knew the boiler was going to blow fit in with the abilities Sam started exhibiting in Seven Trumpets. Sometimes Sam just knew.

One of the glasses picked that moment to fall over, smashing to pieces behind the bar. Both Sam and Dean rushed around the bar, Sam's hand withdrawing a vial of holy water and Dean's hand withdrawing his nickel-plated Colt .45 semi-automatic with ivory handle. But upon closer inspection there was nothing behind the bar.

Or in the ballroom.

But writing began to appear on the mirror behind the bar. Sam clutched at Dean's sleeve and pointed, as if Dean wouldn't notice red letters streaking across the surface.

REDRUM

Dean said, "No fucking way," at the same time Sam chimed in with, "We've been had."

Redrum was murder spelled backward and a staple of Stephen King novels. Novels like The Shining which just happened to feature ghostly girls on tricycles, a resort hotel in the mountains burning up after a boiler exploded and a bartender named—

Hands clapped loudly together. "Bravo. I actually thought I had you back in Forks. Close but not quite. And it took you long enough to catch on here. You're not as quick up here," he tapped to his temple, "as I'd hoped but this little trip to the Overlook Hotel has been vastly entertaining so I forgive you."

Lloyd stood in front of them. And then Lloyd disappeared, leaving someone in his stead. Lloyd had left the building, leaving the Trickster in his place.

Dean lunged forward and grabbed the demi-god by the lapels, the hand with the colt menacingly close to the Trickster's face. Not that the gun fazed the Trickster in the least as he smirked at Dean.

The reaction aggravated every last nerve in Dean's body. "What the hell?"

The smirk slid into a toothy smile. "Why yes, that's right, I am playing. Or should I say, you've been playing. How are you liking it so far?"

Sam actually growled deep in his throat. "You're supposed to be dead! Quit screwing around and tell us what you want. We're a little too busy right now to deal with your fun and games."

The Trickster shrugged Dean's hands off of him, brushing with exaggerated sweeps at his shoulders. "Don't bruise the merchandise. After all, you don't want to piss me off since I'm your cruise director for this little trip. And yes, I know you've been busy. Seven Trumpets and new powers and meeting all sorts of new players along the way. But then players, playing and not being played are what it's all about."

Talking to this creature really hurt Dean's head. Sam had a similar bemused expression on his face. Dean understood Sam's need to growl moments ago and found himself following suit. "I'm gonna play you one right now if you don't explain why we're in the middle of a freakin' Stephen King novel!"

Raising a brow, the Trickster continued to placidly smile. "You know, I'm kinda diggin' this whole Stephen King theme. Let's continue on, shall we? See if there's anything you two knuckleheads can take away from the experience."

From what Dean had seen, the Trickster's purpose was to introduce chaos and chicanery into the world around him. They didn't need any of that action. They had enough going on.

Proving that their tandem hunting skills hadn't abandoned them yet, both Dean and Sam lunged forward, scrabbling to capture the taunting trickster.

They caught thin air.

Sam was out of breath but at least the part guilty, part intimidated look was gone. He looked pissed. "I think we need to get out of here. Other than taking out the Trickster with a wooden stake, which we already tried once, we can't stop him. Stakes obviously don't work, so let's put some distance between us and him and do some research."

Research would be good but right now Dean would rather kick some ass. But he could be practical when the job called for it. "Fine. We'll grab our stuff, and rock and roll."

Both men broke into a light jog, leaving the bar behind as they made for the double doors at the other end of the ballroom. Simultaneously pushing through the doors, they stopped in their tracks.

Dean blinked his eyes to clear them and when that didn't work he turned to Sam. "What the hell—"


	3. Masquerading as a Man Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART THREE

PART THREE

"This is—"

"Ridiculous." Dean spat out before Sam could finish his thought.

"Where are we?" Sam turned in circles.

They were standing on a sidewalk. The snow on the ground, the definite damp nip to the air and the obvious lack of ski lodge and Rocky Mountains made Sam think they weren't in Colorado anymore.

The town had the small, quaint feeling to it. Older buildings were intermingled with the occasional newer one. Dean tapped his arm and nodded to their right, _Starbucks_. Sam was being steered through the door and inside the coffee shop before he could get much more of a look around.

"We're going to have to find a library or somewhere I can get online. My laptop is still back in Colorado."

"Yeah, one step at a time; lets figure out where we are and why first. Then we figure out how to get back to Colorado, and our car is there too."

Sam nodded; he was trying not to remind Dean of that fact. The reality was, however, without the Impala they were stripped down to what they'd had on them. Their car wasn't simply transportation, it was home and in it were their supplies, weapons and a great deal of resources they carried with them and used on a regular basis. Another absolute reality was Sam wanted the car back as much as Dean did.

Sliding up to a tall, round table, Dean rested both elbows on its surface, hooked one of the stools beside it with his foot and dragged it close enough to sit on. Sam slipped onto the other stool. There was a newspaper scattered over the table.

Using two fingers, Dean flipped through the paper, tapped on the top and twisted it to give Sam a better view.

"Ludlow, Maine?" Sam leaned in and whispered. "The Trickster said he liked the Stephen King theme."

"Most of his books took place in Maine; I think he's from there or something. We just left The Shining, what book did he write next?"

Tilting his head to one side, Sam sighed. "How should I know? There's no guarantees the Trickster is going to use the books in the order written, or even use them at all. Just because he said he liked his _theme_ doesn't mean he's really going to use it or was even telling the truth."

"Good point." Dean straightened and looked around the small coffee shop. "Well, we're not going to learn much sitting on our asses in here."

"You're the one who shoved me in here. I was walking down the street minding my own business."

Dean huffed and pushed off the stool. "I'm getting something to go, you want one or not? Then, I guess we're hoofing it, since no wheels. We need to solve this, grab that asshole and end him and get back to the wheels."

Sam trailed behind his brother to the counter. There was a short line so they stood quietly, Sam listening to the chatter of people around him. He knew Dean, while appearing to be focused intently on the menu, was doing the same thing. Dean always ordered the same coffee no matter what; the menu reading was a ruse for the other patrons.

Leaning to his left as Dean casually shuffled a half foot to the right, Sam stood and tried to blend into the background as much as a guy his height could.

A group of teenage girls were chattering about some upcoming winter dance, behind them were two men discussing what sounded like getting a group of kids to some hockey game…hardly Stephen King novel material.

Another group of kids, four boys, came in, but unlike the others they were quiet and somber. This group was younger than the obvious high-school girls, maybe early teens.

One boy looked as if he'd been crying. His head hung down, chin nearly brushing his chest, curly red hair cropped short so seeing his face even at that angle was easier. His freckled face was pale and splotchy pink. The kid was definitely upset by something and the others with him were definitely trying to cheer him up.

Another boy leaned in closer, putting a hand on the red-haired boy's shoulder. "We'll take her tonight to the cemetery. She'll come back and won't even remember she'd died."

Sam's gut twisted.

 _When you died, Sam…it wasn't your time. You were ripped from this life and that left a tear on your spirit._

Dean was at the counter, ordering. He glanced back long enough to meet Sam's gaze. He'd heard. Nodding and smiling to the man behind the counter, Dean took two large coffees and stepped closer to Sam, whispering, "Did I hear what I think I heard?"

 _But you got drug back_.

Biting down on his lower lip, Sam took the offered cup and nodded. Dean pressed his elbow to Sam's side and nudged him back from the group of boys. They were still close enough to hear, but Sam knew Dean inching between him and a group of harmless boys somehow made Dean think Sam was shielded from ugly memories and hurt feelings. Dean's eyes narrowed and he focused on the grieving boy for a split second. More exactly, focused on his shirt.

Sam followed his brother's gaze. The kid wore a t-shirt, the kind you had made from having one of your own pictures silk screened on the material. The same sad child they looked at now was smiling out from the picture. His arm was slung around a shaggy brown mutt with pointed ears, warm brown eyes and a black nose.

Blinking, Sam realized what the boy was grieving over was his dog. His recently deceased dog. He turned to Dean, mouth opening, but Dean beat him to the punch.

"Pet Semetery, they spelled cemetery wrong for a reason, but I can't remember what."

"Did you read that book too?"

Dean shook his head and made a face. "Are you nuts? Saw the movie though. In the story, local legend had it there was some old cemetery in the woods outside town that if you took a dead pet there and buried it, it'd come back. In the movie kids talked about it al lot."

Fingers snagging in the material of Dean's jacket, Sam headed toward the door, Dean in tow. Once safely outside Sam blurted out, "They're going to take that kid's dead dog to some place that brings it back?"

"Yeah, if this follows the story. The pets come back, but they're…wrong and…gross. It was nothing but a made-up horror story, Sam."

"Why would the Trickster pick a story about something being brought back from the dead wrong?" Sam's voice as well as his hands shook.

"Because he's messing with us." Dean snapped. "It's what he does."

Sam nodded, wanting very much to believe Dean.

A woman holding a small boy's hand sidestepped around them, smiling as she moved by. The little guy wore a baseball cap. The woman was talking to him. "Gage, we'll go pick up your sister and meet daddy then go home."

The boy, Gage, skipped along beside her.

A couple passing her from the other direction stopped and chatted. Sam distinctly heard her addressed as Rachael, her husband as Louis. Two minutes later she was heading farther away, her little son, Gage, still skipping happily at her side.

When Sam turned to look at Dean, his brother's face had gone emotionless; his eyes were flat as he watched the woman's form recede. "That's the kid."

They started walking. Sam sipped at his coffee as Dean gave him the highlights of the plot.

"In the movie, the kid, Gage, is run over by a truck near Rachael and Louis's house. He's dragged and his baseball cap he always wears—maybe Stephen King knows Bobby," Dean shrugged and smiled at his own joke. "Anyway, the cap is filled with blood."

Sam stumbled and choked on his coffee. "Dude, gross."

"Yeah, I didn't write it. Anyway, Louis, the father, he takes his son's body to this pet cemetery he's heard the locals talk about. In the story kids have been taking their dead pets there for centuries."

"What happened?"

"It's a Stephen King movie, Sam. You know master of the macabre, supreme horror guy…"

"What…happened?" Sam ground out, fingers tightening around his cup.

Dean swallowed and stopped, gaze still on the woman and boy. "The kid comes back alright, but all kinds of wrong and nasty. He goes on a killing spree, ripping, slashing, terrorizing, you know, Stephen King stuff."

Sam felt the color drain out of his face. The tremble in his hands worked its way all through the rest of his body which felt suddenly cold and clammy.

"Aw, Sammy, it's a movie, a book written by some guy who sits around and thinks up the worst stuff imaginable for a living. Dude scares _me_. It's a piece of fiction meant to be scary, a horror movie, what did you expect him to write?"

"But what if the Trickster is trying to say that's what I'll become?"

"But nothing, Sam. You haven't run wild killing anything in the grossest and most hideous way possible and you won't." Dean sighed, crumpled his coffee cup and flung it into a nearby trash can. "We're in this story because the Trickster wants to mess with our heads." Grabbing Sam's arm, Dean turned him so he was forced to look directly at Dean. "Don't let him or he wins."

Nodding, Sam let Dean guide him down the street, following the woman. "They live outside of town somewhere. On a busy road."

"With a lot of trucks?"

"Yep."

"As soon as we figured out where we were he moved us here. So why are we here? Other than to freak me out about being brought back from the dead?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know."

They decided their best course until they knew why they were in this particular story was to stick with Gage and his family. Sam wasn't exactly excited about the prospect of watching even a fictional family lose their child, Dean even less so, he could tell. They didn't have a lot of options. The only way to get free of the Trickster was to play along until they could get to him.

Finding the house wasn't as much of a chore as they'd first thought, it seemed everyone knew everyone in this town and not knowing Louis and Rachael's last name didn't hinder them in the least.

It was a quaint older house, maybe a century home, on top of the gentle rise of a small hill. The property was slanted so the road was at the base of the hill, curving around it in such a way a driver's view was very limited on that section.

They parked in the drive and started their hike up the hill toward the house. They'd gone about half the way when the little boy they'd seen in town, a girl of maybe eight and the young couple who were their parents came outside.

The drone of engines moving along the road rolled through the crisp air.

What exactly the family was doing Sam couldn't tell, but he heard the louder engine of a large truck as it approached. The little boy, Gage, broke away from his parents, laughing and running.

He ran straight for the road.

Louis shouted then screamed for Gage to stop. Sam hollered at him. Dean broke into a run, charging toward the child. Gage slowed for a few seconds, glancing back over his shoulder. Giggling, he picked up momentum going down the hill.

Sam was running at him, as was Louis. Apparently a three-year-old was faster than three grown men.

A horn from the oncoming truck blared. Brakes ground and tires screeched against pavement. The little boy never stood a chance. He ran right into the truck and was dragged across the road. Sam tripped to a halt and stood watching. He couldn't help focusing on the little boy's baseball cap lying on the pavement. It was filled with bone and blood.

Dean stumbled to a halt a few yards from the road and dropped to his knees, gulping in huge breaths. His head hung down, but it didn't matter. Sam knew too well the expression Dean wore.

Sam turned away, but movement near the road made him turn back. This time there was another little boy, running. Another boy, older by a few years was chasing him, screaming at him to stop. Sam may not have recognized himself, but he sure recognized Dean as a young boy.

Dean was still on his knees, but had straightened and Sam could tell by his posture he was watching the same scene.

Child Dean reached toddler Sam in a few more steps, grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked back. Winding one arm around the toddler, Dean spun around and threw him to the ground then dropped beside him.

No one other than he and Dean seemed to notice the scene. Sobs and wails from parents losing their child faded into the background.

The toddler image of Sam was crying, sobbing and immediately scooped up and held tightly in Dean's lap.

Dean, the real Dean, climbed slowly to his feet and backed up until he was standing next to Sam. "You had just turned three. It was Memorial Day weekend."

"What?" That had actually happened?

Turning to him Dean's eyes were watery. "It was an ice cream truck. I…it was…I uh let go of your hand for just a second and off you…" His voice dropped off as he swallowed thickly. "If you'd gotten another few feet ahead…"

"I didn't." Sam let his hand rest on Dean's shoulder, fingers curling around and gripping tightly. For Sam it was like grabbing an anchor.

"Scared the crap out of me. I never told Dad," Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Actually, I never told him a lot of stuff."

The truck driver walked up the hill to join Sam and his brother. "Such a shame. Cute little guy…well he was."

Dean frowned and turned to face the truck driver. Sam sucked in a breath; he couldn't have heard what he just heard.

"So, his father carries him through the woods to some patch of ground some ancient spirits inhabit and buries him there. Poor kid comes back seventeen different kinds of wrong." The truck driver landed a hard stare on Sam.

 _What's dead should stay dead_.

"Bet he's like the pets that come back. Wants to do nothing but kill. Wrong. Evil. Killer."

"Pal, you'd better shut your mouth—" Dean snapped.

The driver melted away, replaced by the Trickster. "Let's see." The Trickster snickered and snapped his fingers together.

Immediately the scene changed and they were in a hospital morgue. Louis was pulling the body of his mangled son into his arms. He crept to the door and looked out.

"Don't do it." Sam stepped forward, and put one arm out, blocking the door. "It doesn't work."

Louis turned to Sam. "You sure about that, Sam?"

Jerking back a step, Sam sucked in a breath. Dean stepped between them and into Louis's space. "He's telling the truth. Whatever it is on that land that does this, it doesn't work."

"Oh, what's good for Sam the rest of us don't get?" Louis growled.

Dean's shoulders squared even more. He pulled back, straightened and frowned. "That's not—"

"The same thing, Dean?" In the blink of an eye Louis was the Trickster. "Tell me, how isn't it the same thing?" He leaned around Dean to look Sam up and down.

"You listen to me." Dean took a step forward, now squarely between Sam and the Trickster. He stabbed at the Trickster's chest with one finger. His voice came out nasty and commanding. "There isn't a damn thing wrong with Sam. He's a good kid," another step and another sharp jab, "he always was and he always will be. So back the hell off."

The Trickster's face split into a huge grin.

Sam was speechless. Dean often said these things to him, but rarely to anyone else. At least not that Sam ever heard. It felt good. No, _great_. Better in fact than the feeling of power that had coursed through him a short time ago in the Colorado ski lodge. Somehow hearing Dean validate him to someone else, even if that someone was a stupid, self-centered jackass of a demi-god, made Sam feel like everything they'd gone through was worthwhile. He didn't give a rip what anyone else thought, but knowing his brother felt this way was the most important thing to Sam.

"Voices in your head making it a little hard to think straight, Dean?" The Trickster grabbed Dean's hand and shoved it away from him.

"What's the matter?" Sam spat. "Jealous you can't do that too? Dean thinks just fine, he figured you out."

"Humpphh. Let's just see if we can take what we learned here and use it." A snap of his fingers and the Trickster was gone.

"Now what?" Sam threw both hands in the air, frustrated. "He wants something, but what? He's showing us certain novels for a reason. I can't help thinking it's for something other than screwing with us."

"First of all we get out of this morgue." Dean pulled the door open and motioned Sam ahead. "And find that creepy thing. Then I'm wringing it out of him."

Stepping through, Sam stopped so fast his brother ran right into his back.

"Sam, what the—" Dean's voice caught and died when the door swung shut behind them then vanished.


	4. Masquerading as a Man Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART FOUR

PART FOUR

Stumbling a few steps, Dean managed to not knock both himself and his brother down when Sam slammed on the brakes so fast he'd run straight into the kid. "Signal next time, will you?"

Sam turned around and completely ignored Dean's irritation. "Think about it, Dean. He takes us to that vampire town, and from what I remember of that book there were a lot of people sacrificing for those they love. Then the ski lodge in Colorado, and all that crap about powers and hearing things and how much you took care of me there when I had that headache, and then the Pet Semetery bit and bringing the dead back and…"

Dean stood motionless, staring at his brother. Sam was getting pale and talking way too fast. "Inhale!" Dean barked, hitting Sam's shoulder with the flat of his hand.

Clamping his lips together, Sam stopped talking and stood blinking at Dean.

"Don't do that, Sam. It can't be healthy."

"Oh and this shit is?"

One little brother, back from whatever minor mental breakdown he was vacationing in. Another mission a success. Now, if they could simply figure out this Trickster business they'd be good.

Sam sighed. "We need to figure out where we are now."

The air was pleasantly warm, trees full of leaves, the smell of cut grass mixed with blooming flowers to sweeten the air.

He tugged on Dean's jacket and nodded across the street. They had a short wait before there was enough of a break in traffic they could jog across to the row of stores lining the opposite side of the street. Near the middle was an electronics store with the obligatory television playing in the window.

There was a movie playing Dean didn't immediately identify until a Saint Bernard came on screen, slathering, drooling, barking and snapping. _Cujo_. Great.

"Dean." Sam whispered in his ear, voice a shaky, breathy almost non-existent sound.

Dean turned far enough to look at Sam and saw what Sam was staring at, pretty much looking like someone who hadn't hunted ghosts most of their life and just saw his very first one…up close, personal and naked.

His gaze fell where Sam's was. A sign in the corner of the store window read, _Derry Sight and Sound, Derry, Maine_.

Scratching at his head, Dean searched his memory; _Cujo_ hadn't taken place in Derry…Bangor maybe?…There were so many and they were all starting to run together in his mind.

He started down the street, knowing Sam would be stretching those long legs of his to catch up and keep pace. Derry, what the hell novel took place in Derry? He should know this, he should…it was more important than the others, but why?

A young boy, thirteen or so, stood in the middle of the sidewalk ahead of them. He grinned broad and goofy, waving at them.

Derry, Maine.

 _And apparently clowns kill, Dean_.

Crap. Shit. Damn. Mother _effing_ Trickster!

The boy turned, pointed to a park at the end of the street and ran away, disappearing before Dean could see where he went.

Dean stopped mid-stride. Sam's fingers were curled tightly in the back of his sleeve. Sam didn't run him over, but halted at the same time as Dean.

 _Clowns kill_.

At least their noses made a good target.

An ice cream truck was parked in the park, beside it stood a clown. Not just any clown, oh hell no, they had to have the mother of all nasty clowns ever. Walking toward the park, Dean didn't want to go there, and he sure didn't want to drag Sam along with him. That was exactly what was happening, however. His feet were moving without express permission from his brain to do so. In fact, his brain was being very explicit in its commands to stop and turn around.

Stupid feet.

 _And apparently clowns kill._ Pennywise. They were in IT. This day was getting better and better.

Dean ventured a glance over his shoulder at his brother. Sam was close enough to feel his every movement and Dean was quite sure the kid had stopped breathing. This whole thing had just become personal.

The clown, complete with the bulbous, grotesque nose that was nothing but a bull's eye as far as Dean was concerned, stood by the ice cream truck holding a bunch of balloons.

They stopped out of reach, but close enough to hear the sounds of children coming for ice cream and the bizarre rustle of clothing from the clown's billowing costume.

Pennywise let go of one of the balloons. Before it got more than a few inches, he reached out and poked it with one finger. The balloon exploded in a violent gush of wind and red.

Blood splattered over the clown's face and the pavement at his feet. Taking a few steps forward he held out a balloon. "Do you want a balloon, Sammy?"

Dean glanced at his brother. Sam stood completely still, as if he were literally paralyzed.

The balloon popped, more blood. This time it speckled the grass between it and them.

"Come on, Sammy. Take the balloon." Another balloon blossomed with vibrant red. "And remember," three more balloons were released, all popping and spraying blood in all directions. "Yes **they** float Sammy, **they** float, **they all** float **down here** Sammy and you will too!"

"Dean." Sam's voice was thin and wobbly. He looked small and defenseless. He looked scared to death.

 _And apparently clowns kill_.

Interesting thing about that.

Apparently Dean did too.

Throwing one arm out and catching Sam's side to shove him back a few paces, Dean growled at the clown. "Dude, you have messed with the wrong person. And messed with your last person."

Stepping forward as Sam was stumbling backwards, Dean pulled his gun free. In a smooth, lethal movement he took aim and, without further thought, fired.

The bullets ripped through the clown, tearing its clothes and putting holes in its hands and face, marring its idiot make-up job.

What they didn't do was take the bastard down.

"Huh." Dean took a few steps back. "Those were silver tipped."

"They didn't even slow it down." Sam stared at the clown. It was peppered with dark marks where the bullets contacted, but it stood upright, watching them.

"Going to come on down to my home with me, Sammy? Dean can see how you float when you're dead?" Pennywise clapped his hands together.

Dean seriously considered reloading and emptying another round into the thing for no other reason than because he could.

"Even the great and mighty big brother, Dean Winchester, can't keep me from making sure little Sammy's body floats."

In a flash of red, Pennywise was gone.

"God _damn_!" Dean spat and pounded his fist against thin air with his free hand. "When I get a hold of that miserable, sorry excuse for a…a…the Trickster…he's dead. As if clowns weren't bad enough, _that_ clown is worse."

"We need to find a library and that book. Find out what the kids did to beat the clown." Sam voice had a soft tremble, as did his hands. He pointed to the shopping plaza. "Pay phone."

Dean took a few deep breaths and stowed his gun away. Dropping his hand on Sam's shoulder he turned his brother away from the ice cream truck and back toward the shopping plaza. They jogged to the phone both. Sam grabbed the phone book from its holder under the phone and started flipping through the pages.

Sam pulled out a page with library listings, another with high schools and a third with bookstores. "One of these places will have that book. Did you read it, or see the movie?"

Shaking his head, Dean said, "No. What he writes isn't exactly entertainment."

Snorting, Sam grinned, "No kidding."

Fortunately for them, this town was as small as the last one. Finding a bookstore was their closest option, they wasted no time getting there. Stephen King had a decently large section and finding a copy of IT wasn't a chore in the least.

Dean did his best to refrain from snickering when Sam pointed out the book but refused to touch it. The cover was a vibrant and large likeness of Pennywise. The snicker finally found its way loose when Dean got to the register and paid for the book. He and Sam found an out of the way booth in a nearby diner and went to work figuring out how the clown was banished, Stephen King style, which Dean was finding out needed far fewer bullets and far larger suspense of reality than Dean and Sam Winchester style.

Sam pulled his chair around and scooted close enough to Dean he could read the book over his brother's shoulder. Flipping through the pages Dean scanned through the contents.

"There," Sam pointed to the middle of the page.

Flattening the book so it was easier for them both to see and read, Dean ran one finger down the page, then the next. "According to the story the group of kids used a ritual that worked in part, or mostly worked because of how close they were to one another."

"Their loyalty to one another was their biggest weapon."

"Yep." Dean looked up, meeting Sam's eyes, being sure Sam was listening to his next words. "Sammy, we have it all over these kids, or anyone else for that matter when it comes to that."

Sam's lips curled to a small smile. "Yeah," he agreed in a soft voice. "Yeah, we do."

It took about twenty minutes with both of them searching through the book and writing down the basics of the ritual using crayons left on the table.

"You're really not going to like a key part of this ritual, Dean," Sam sighed.

Dean scrunched up his nose and glanced up from where he'd been staring at the growing pile of napkins Sam had been jotting notes on. "I don't like any of this so that doesn't really surprise me."

When Sam started to explain more of the ritual, Dean held up his hand, forestalling him. "Just tell me about it on the way; I don't need my pie spoiled by something that you, geekboy, deem gross."

Sam snorted and frowned but didn't argue. "We'll have to go into the sewers, it's where Pennywise lives. I don't know if confronting him down there is going to make it harder or not."

Dean nodded and flipped at the collection of napkins Sam had been writing on. "I think we've reached new highs, Sammy. Rituals on diner napkins, written in crayon."

Sam shrugged and grinned. "Whatever works." He stood up. "Sewer?"

"You sure do know how to show a guy a good time, Sammy. Where do you take chicks? Filtration plants?" When Sam did nothing but roll his eyes and stand staring at him, Dean shrugged and pushed away from the chair and to his feet. "Okay, then, sewer."

They didn't need much, and they spent the time searching out a sewer entrance memorizing the words of the ritual. Finding a side street with few buildings and almost no traffic, they pried the manhole cover near the middle of the street up and peered down into the dark.

"At least he's not looking up at us." Sam's laugh was nervous and shaking. Dean caught a tremor running through his brother's body.

"Let's do this." Dean lowered himself slowly into the hole, and put his feet securely on the ladder leading down. He had to climb nearly three quarters of the way down before Sam could get himself completely onto the ladder and follow. Jumping from the ladder, Dean landed solidly on the ground, splashing in a shallow puddle. "Ugh. I hate sewers. Nothing good is in a sewer."

"Nope." Sam climbed slowly from the ladder and stood beside Dean. He glanced up and down the tunnel. "Which way?"

Dean shrugged. "One way is just as good as another as far as I'm concerned. You're the one with all the spidey senses, you pick."

Sam huffed a breath and pointed to one side tunnel off the main section. "I think, that way."

"That's the way it is then." Dean stepped around Sam and led the way down the sewer, carefully avoiding puddles of water.

Five minutes of walking and they hit a cold patch. Rubbing his arms with his hands Dean glanced back at Sam when his breath froze in the air as he exhaled. They stopped, moving so their backs were pressed together. Dean drew his gun. He felt Sam shift against him and his arms come up, hands in a defensive position in front of his body.

"See anything?" Sam whispered.

Dean shook his head, knowing Sam would feel the movement. In response he felt another tremor snake down Sam's spine. The kid was scared; Dean knew it without seeing Sam's eyes or face. The clown thing may have been irrational, but that wasn't a consolation to Dean and he knew it wasn't one to Sam either. He was proud of his brother, doing this despite how much a clown, this clown, frightened him.

"Sam."

"Yeah? See anything?"

"No. I just wanted…um…you're doing really good with this." He sidestepped, keeping time with Sam's steps, moving them farther down the tunnel and keeping them in the center at the same time.

Dean felt how Sam's shoulders relaxed and the tension eased away from muscles of his back. Sam tipped his head down and to the side. He glanced back for a second; Dean could feel that too, as well as picture how the expression on Sam's face went from confused to understanding in a split second.

Message received.

Not a moment too soon either. A darkness shimmied and took shape in the sewer a few yards from them. Dean pressed his shoulders against Sam's, swiveling them so he was more facing Pennywise than his kid brother. Sam twisted on his heels, and stepped up behind Dean, facing off the clown with its stupid fat red nose along with Dean. Fear was one thing that never kept Sam from Dean's side; it never impinged on his loyalty. That was something Dean never took for granted and never ceased to be amazed by: the bottomless depths of their loyalty to one another no matter what.

Pennywise giggled and took a few steps toward them. Dean felt Sam tense behind him, but he didn't move otherwise.

The clown's voice came out screechy and loud. "The water is deeper farther down, Sammy, time to see how you float."

Dean needed to get Sam back in the game. "Sammy, you said there were a few ways to get It into an easier to kill form. I think now would be a good time."

Sam shook his head, dazed eyes shifting to laser focus. "We need to avoid the deadlights...whatever you do, don't stare at it when it's in its true form. Some of the characters were driven crazy when they saw it. But I can't stare at the clown any longer. We need a joke, or a tongue twister...we need to get it to laugh. And we need to swap spit."

Dean remembered the goofy name of the ritual now. Ritual of Chüd. Unfortunately Dean's mind was blank. They should've brought the napkins with their crib notes with them.

Wait a minute…swapping spit?

"There is no way in hell I'm swapping spit with you. That's just…ewww." Dean swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grimacing.

"Not on my list of things to do either. But I didn't write the damn book. What do you want to do?" Sam's new-found composure was starting to crack around the edges, his voice lifting higher up on the scale.

"Skip the spit and try a tongue twister. It's time for Bozo to say goodnight."

"Werewolves and wendigos wash Impalas." Sam's body was drawn tight, all focus now. The words were ridiculous though and Dean couldn't help but look at his brother with surprise.

Sam merely shrugged at him.

Dean wasn't the only one taken aback by Sam's nonsensical speech. The clown barked an incredulous laugh, the sound ricocheting wildly around the tunnels. "That's not how it works, boys. My turn."

Pennywise dropped to all fours, bent and morphed. Colorful, billowing clothing tightened down and turned dark brown and black. Arms and legs lengthened and became pointed and fuzzy. Two more sets sprouted from the creature's middle.

"What the—" Dean fired.

"Like in the book. One of its forms is a giant spider."

"Now he tells me."

Before Dean could get any more shots off, white, sticky webbing shot out from underneath the spider and wrapped around the gun, yanking it away. Next his hands were bound and he was yanked off his feet and dragged over the ground. Giant pincers appeared at the lowest point of the triangular head. They opened and snapped shut with a loud clack. Something foul smelling and runny drooled from between them.

"Dean!" Sam pounced on him, trying to pull the sticky mess away from Dean's hands.

"Mine. He's mine. Give him up and I won't make you float."

"No!" Sam threw his weight back, but was dragged toward the spider along with Dean. Narrowing his eyes, Sam stared hard at the creature. Letting go of Dean with one hand, Sam held it out in front of him and closed his eyes.

Dean waited. Nothing happened. No wind, no dimming of sounds, nothing. "Sam, it's not…" His words were cut off when Sam dove over him and latched onto the webbing with both hands.

"I can't do anything. It's not working." Frantically Sam jerked and tugged. His jaws clenched tight, his face pale, eyes wide and wild with panic. Feet scrabbling along the slick ground, Sam was being pulled ever closer to the thing.

Throwing his bound hands up, Dean slammed them into Sam's shoulder. "Knife, in my boot."

"But you'll—"

"Sam, you'll be fast enough. I know it." Dean gritted out and yelped when he was jerked a few more feet along the ground. "You're not powerless, not by a long shot. You don't need that crap to fight."

Jumping over him, Sam's fingers wound in Dean's jeans and pulled the material back, exposing the ankle sheath. He yanked Dean's knife, silver edged, free and flung himself at the webbing. Two sure strokes and Sam sliced right through the silk the spider spun out.

Flipping over, Dean shoved away from the thing, kicking at it as he went. Sam grabbed him under the arms and helped hoist him to his feet. Holding out his wrists, he nodded down.

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Hold still."

The knife sawed through between Dean's arms, freeing him.

Together they turned to face the creature. Sam's whisper tickled Dean's ear. "I think it's time for the rest of the ritual."

Dean didn't want to play tonsil hockey with his brother but he wanted to die even less. He grasped the back of Sam's head and yanked him closer, ignoring his brother's gasp. "Here goes nothing…"

-0-

The Trickster's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Which was really saying something in his current form, beady eyes pointing in different directions—gave him an intimate understanding of the term wall-eyed that he didn't necessarily want.

That, of course, was beside the point. The point was that it looked like the Winchester Brothers were going to kiss.

Ewww.

That was enough proof for the Trickster. Sam and Dean were loyal to each other without a doubt. Willing to face off against monster clowns and spiders and even complete the Ritual of Chüd in its entirety. Which really, where did Stephen King come up with some of this shit? The Ritual of Chüd was a spell in which a shape-shifting monster called a "talus" and a human shaman locked tongues and told jokes; the first to laugh devoured the other.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn't so far out there. The Trickster remembered the time that he—

Dean was pulling his brother against his chest and this was really too much.

With a loud clap of thunder and a bolt of white-hot lightning the Trickster morphed himself into his human form. It was a bit over the top but it was enough to get Sam and Dean's attention.

"Bravo! That was really quite impressive. Fighting off the giant, alien monster with…saliva? Ingenious." The Trickster smirked at the brothers who were staring at him incredulously, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

Dean, all bluster and bombast, stalked forward toward the Trickster. "Listen you smarmy, demented demi-god, we're sick of this little game of—"

The Trickster quit listening to the older brother when he saw the younger slip his hand into the inside of his jacket and withdraw something. It looked like a wooden stake, filed to a sharp point.

He'd worn out another welcome. Sigh. What was a demi-god to do?

Concentrating, he shortened his stature, widened his head and other than a few odd strands of gray hair made himself bald. All he needed was a slim pond and a few Jedi Knights to complete the ensemble.

He blinked owlish eyes and raising his hands in front of him, the Trickster stopped the brothers in their tracks. Stopping hunters with a flick of his wrist. How cool was that?

This was more fun than he'd had in a long time, at least since he last faced off with the meddling do-gooders. Maybe he could play one more trick on the brothers. It was in his blood after all.

Clapping his hands together, the Trickster watched as the Winchesters gained the use of their limbs again.

Unfortunately both brothers were on a collision course with him now. So much for more play time. It was definitely time to make like a tree. "Remember, in each other trust you must. Mental or physical you separate not. Counting there are many on you in the war upcoming."

The Trickster didn't like what the future had in store for them any more than the brothers did if their expressions were anything to go by. But talking like Yoda was definitely fun.

Touching his middle finger to his thumb, the Trickster snapped the air in front of him. Both young men went down hard, bowling pins taken out by a hard strike.

Next he twitched his nose back and forth. It looked so cute when Samantha on _Bewitched_ did that. The only thing it made the Trickster want to do was sneeze.

"Later, boys!"

The Trickster zapped himself back to his tropical paradise. Rod Longfellow had some business to attend to now that he was assured 'the heroes' were on track.

-0-

Sam was shaking and he couldn't stop.

Eyes snapping open, he found Dean looming over him, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. The shaking was from Dean rocking him while calling his name in a panic.

"Hey, Sam, you with me? About time. Let's sit you up. Last thing I want is for you to fall asleep again."

Sam found himself tugged upright and leaned against something soft. Pillows. His eyes roamed around the room. It was the same motel room they'd stayed in while in New York.

Something damp was thrust into Sam's hands. "Here, you had a nose bleed."

A wet washcloth. Sam dabbed at his nose, smearing a sticky substance around.

"Give me that." The washcloth was snatched out of his hands and Dean wiped his face with a ferocity that made Sam want to jerk away. He wasn't a kid anymore.

Although, when they'd faced off against Pennywise he'd felt very much like a kid. He'd pretty much hidden behind his big brother. And Dean had let him. Dean had even said he was proud of him for facing up to the clown. Not exactly in those words but Sam knew what he meant.

He submitted to his brother's harsh ministrations while staring at Dean's face. His brother was pasty white, eyes too large and bloodshot in his head. Dean looked like he'd been through the wringer. "It was just a dream?"

Dean took one more swipe with the washcloth before launching it toward the open bathroom. It hit with a muted thud which was followed by Dean clearing his throat. "The Ghost of Christmas Future might have been a dream but _Twilight_ , _The Shining_ , _Pet Semetary_ and _It_ were all courtesy of that weasely little Trickster. The only thing that was real was our job at the New York City Library and that was ala _Ghostbusters_."

Dean was angry. Sam could hear it in the low rasp of his voice and the way his brother paced the small motel room.

Sam was confused. And his head hurt. "Why? Why did the Trickster do that to us?"

His brother stopped moving and sank on to the edge of the bed. "Do you remember what he said when we were in the sewer? He spouted a bunch of Jedi crap about the upcoming war and sticking together."

Sam did remember the Trickster saying that. He also remembered something else. "He said we'd proven our loyalty to each other, too."

Dean's face turned a bright pink, even the tips of his ears glowing brightly. "I don't ever want to hear a word about that ritual again."

It took a moment but then Sam remembered what Dean was talking about. Sam was going to suggest that they spit in their hands and shake, maybe that would be enough of a figurative representation of locking tongues. But he hadn't had a chance to say anything when Dean had taken action.

At least the Trickster had been good for something. Although, they never would have been in that predicament if the trickster-god hadn't put them there. Just thinking about it all made his head spin.

Dean, cold and crazy in the future. Sam's powers running amuck. Dead things should stay dead. Killer clowns and sticking together.

The last was something Sam intended to follow through on. Sticking together. Trusting one another.

He wondered what the little trip to Forks had been about. He'd doubted Dean's sanity a little with that one but it was the damn moose head at the café that really got to him. He rubbed his temples, trying to massage away some of the pain.

A glass of water and two white, round pills magically appeared in front of him. "I think we should head out if you feel up to it. I'm not really interested in sleeping any time soon."

Sam gamely swallowed the pills down. Something nagged at him. It was future-Dean. "I'm not going to let it happen, Dean. I'm not leaving you."

Dean's expressive face turned blank for a moment. "I can't lose you again, Sam. I just can't."

Reaching out, Sam touched Dean's arm. He thought his brother was going to jerk away but he didn't. "You won't, Dean. Not this time."

Dean's eyelashes lowered and then he looked up at Sam, confident once again. "Let's pack up and then get some breakfast. I'm starving.'

His brother was always hungry.

His brother also always looked after him, protected him.

Their little trip to Derry and Pennywise had brought that little lesson home. As much as Sam wanted to be independent, he never wanted Dean to stop being his big brother.

The End


End file.
